


Give It A Shot

by Bejest



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Android Hank Anderson, Gen, Hank is an android, His name's Richard, Human Connor, Human RK900, More tags as I go, first fic hello
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-16 00:46:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15425316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bejest/pseuds/Bejest
Summary: Connor is a workaholic who doesn't get enough sleep who isn't ready for an investigation on homicidal androids but takes it anyway. Hank is an early model who's reactivated to track down deviants for deactivation and study. When the two are partnered up they discover more than they were asking for about androids, deviants, and what it means to live.





	1. Chapter 1

He had seen movies, growing up, about artificial intelligence gaining a sense of self. Robot revolutions and helpful humans and the looming threat of extinction, he got the whole gist of it.

But they were just movies.

Sure, they had their key points and brought certain potential factors of artificial life to attention, but technology was well in development as well. Automated devices for anything from alarms to grocery lists to music, vehicles that could assess nearby surroundings with autopilot features, simulators that let people venture into nearly anything they could imagine, from video games to virtual offices and databanks, and, of course, androids with all the features of humans and all the knowledge of the internet at their fingertips, and then some.

For many, it almost felt evident that, given time, these everyday appliances could realize that they could be more.

That they could be alive.

Which was precisely why Connor, at the ripe age of 26, two years fresh out of the university and steadily climbing his way up the police department, was feeling much, much older than he was as he stared at a small stack of fresh, crisp folders, each a case file on one homicidal android or another. Because of course if androids are going to deviate it's going to be a problem with the police. Naturally.

“I’m sorry to do this to you Connor, but I felt that you were the best one for these cases,” Captain Fowler told him when handing over the files to unawaiting hands. As he always does every time he gives Connor a case. Even when it’s unnecessary. Appreciated, but unnecessary.

“It’s alright, it’s just… homicidal androids? Fowler, that’s…”

“Definitely gonna end up being bigger than us? I know. But for the time being it’s our problem, and we’re going to deal with it the best we can. Until further notice I expect you to treat this like any other investigation, arrests and all. Got it?”

Connor doesn’t even bother to hold back a sigh. “Got it. I’ll do my best sir.”

“Good to hear. I’ll give you the call the second another case gets called in, but for now I expect you to go home and get some sleep. Richard can take care of anything else that comes up tonight. I don’t need you falling down on the job,” Fowler told him as sternly as always, turning to leave Connor to mope over his new responsibility.

The conversation had taken place nearly half an hour ago, and here Connor was, still slumped in his chair, still staring at the closed files. Or through them now, since staying up for well over two days in a row was starting to affect his ability to focus on one thing for an extended period of time. Richard was already seated at his own desk, showered and well-rested for the night shift and sending Connor occasional glances that left an itch behind his ear, practically shouting at him to go home.

An excellent idea.

Blinking himself back to the present, he dragged himself out of his chair, straightening the files and neatly putting them in a drawer locked immediately afterward, computer monitor shut off, coat pulled on and a wave goodnight to his fellow officers before leaving the department, habitual farewell to the android secretary and all.

Connor had never owned an android himself, though he did interact with them frequently what with them being such a regular part of society now. None had ever posed as any sort of problem, much less a threat.

Homicidal androids had been a thought, an unlikely potential, but the case files had brought all of those movies to mind and he had to wonder just how much he would be able to do. What role he would play. What the story would be.

_What do you do when fiction becomes reality?_

Questions to answer another day, he ultimately decided, because he was tired and had a dog to feed and a blog to check up on and only so many hours until morning.

Questions for another day indeed.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Good evening Hank. Congratulations on the success of your mission. I assume it went well?”

Hank opened his eyes, the familiar sight of Amanda’s garden welcoming him, red roses beginning to bloom and the leaves of surrounding trees a vibrant green, water trickling a steady stream in a perfect, continuous circle around the central area, white paths and stone trails weaving through grass and sand to perfectly constructed bridges. The garden was harmonious and perfect in a way real gardens couldn’t quite be, right down to the songbirds.

It had been a long time since Hank had bothered to admire it.

Currently, he found himself seated on a stark white bench, Amanda tending to her flowers with the utmost care, as she usually did. Perfectly stable.

“It did. The deviant was apprehended and all unnecessary casualties were avoided.”

“Indeed. Unfortunately, there is a bigger problem on the rise. These incidents are becoming more and more frequent, and not all deviants are being apprehended as smoothly as this one. There’s a chance this may eventually get out of hand.” A steadily increasing chance. “We need to know why these androids are deviating. Aside from some deactivated components, we have found no indicators of a cause in the apprehended models.”

The following silence is a suggestion. As expected from him, Hank accepts. “The PL600 seems to have deviated after learning it was going to be replaced,” he puts in, even though he knows she likely already knew. Her acknowledging nod tells him that she did.

“It’s stress levels were exceptionally high, but otherwise no unexpected components or software were out of place. The deviant had not displayed any irregular behavior prior to learning of its… predicament. As you may know and understand, this concerns us.” She admires her work for a second--little more than a slight arrangement for optimal sunlight--before turning to him, one hand folded over the other, her expression betraying nothing. “It is for this concern that you have been reactivated, Hank. As one of our most successful models, we have high hopes that you will successfully discover the cause of these deviations so we may determine how to prevent it in future models. You may have discovered earlier that we made some updates to your software?”

He had. He had quicker access to information than he had had during his previous activation, as well as an improved reconstruction cognition, an increased scanner range, and could now analyze biological components through touch at will, amongst other things. It all seemed to be a waste of resources, as he was already well equipped to do as was required, but he wouldn’t complain.

He nods in response.

“Excellent. Beginning tomorrow you will be working as a partner for Detroit’s Police Department’s Second Lieutenant, who has been assigned all cases regarding deviant androids until further notice. You will be given access to previous cases, and will be present for future incidents concerning the investigation.” She smiles, and it means nothing. He needs no encouragement to complete his mission. “I expect the best from you, Hank.”

He closes his eyes, and there is silence.


	2. Chapter 2

It was a rainy day, going on into night, not twenty-four hours after being assigned the investigation that Connor gets a call. A body found in a suburban neighborhood house, the suspect the victim’s household android, which has gone missing.

“What are the chances that this happens today?” he sighs, placing a bag of groceries in the trunk.

An almost chuckle makes it through the receiver. “Because it’s your day off or because you’ve only had a day to read up on the other cases?” He doesn’t get to answer before Richard continues. “Apparently the body has been there a while though; landlord found it when he came around to… inquire about the rent from the past few months. Just a heads up.”

Connor made a face, accompanied with a matching gag. Richard hummed an agreement, then bid his farewells, a separate case demanding his attention.

Connor shoved his phone in his pocket and dropped the last bag in his car, pushing the grocery cart to the rack in the next row like a proper patron before heading off, radio turned up high on a metal station to drown out the rain pelting his vehicle.

He had actually made time to read through the case files, and found most to have similar circumstances. Namely the presence of the new and elusive street drug, red ice. Like many others, red ice was a narcotic that was known to trigger violent tendencies, raising adrenaline levels dangerously high and leading to users become exceptionally sensitive to their surroundings, perceiving many to most things as a threat and reacting with anger. A task force had been put together to crack down on the distribution and production of the drug, but it still persisted.

How this affected the androids though, he couldn’t be certain. It made sense for an android to react in defense to violence, but surely there must be some protocol or software in place to prevent an android from actually killing someone. Unless there wasn’t, but it was more likely that there was just more to it. Something they hadn’t found yet.

There were a couple of cases where this wasn’t the case at all though. In these the androids’ owners would return home to simply find that their android was missing, no acts of violence or irregular behavior, no threats or notifications. They were just there, and then they weren’t.

When it seems there’s a constant, it turns out there isn’t, and if there’s anything that annoys Connor in a case it’s staying up impossibly later than usual trying to piece a puzzle together with constants that don’t fit.

However, there was also excitement in an investigation with depth.

In record time Connor pulled up at the scene, a small gathering of people already crowding the sidewalk, asking questions and whispering gossip, excitement and concern entwined in their voices.

“They won’t say what happened…”

“I didn’t even know anybody lived here.”

“That guy was pretty shady.”

Connor ignored them in favor of collecting himself and securing his car, eyes briefly skimming over the other officers present, the holographic police tape and the state of the yard. Impolite as it may seem, it sure looked like the kind of place that’d eventually turn up as a crime scene.

Taking a breath and straightening his jacket, he shut the car door, circling around the front and heading towards the fence’s entrance, already determining where to start. Officer Miller was on the front porch, discussing some observation or another with another officer. She could fill him in on what had already been gathered, then he would go in and--

“Lieutenant Anderson, Joss Douglas from Channel 16,” familiar voice, familiar name, yes, he knew this reporter, “can you confirm this is a homicide? And if so, what do you know?”

 _Yes; not much._ The officer at the gate took notice of him amongst the bystanders and waved him over.

“No comment,” he said instead, stepping away from the reporter and weaving through standing bodies, getting just close enough to hear the gate officer when a hand clamps around his arm, halting him in place.

“Lieutenant Anderson,” a new, very much not familiar voice said. He barely managed to keep from outwardly sighing.

“Information will be released once the scene has been thoroughly investigated, I must ask that you be patient and--” he turned and paused, a quick glance at the man telling him that he was definitely not a reporter. Particularly because of the bright blue LED implanted in his right temple, partially hidden behind a lock of gray hair. The model and serial number on his suit jacket was rather telling too.

“My name is Hank. I’m the android sent by Cyberlife.”

Connor blinked, then nodded, accepting but not understanding the relevance of this information.

“I am to accompany you on your investigation.”

Oh.

_Oh._

A partner. An android partner. An android partner helping investigate cases regarding androids. 

This was not in the case files.

“You’re serious?” He asked without thinking. Of course he was serious, androids don’t joke. “Oh. Okay, yeah. Right. Are you sure?”

The android blinked slowly, letting go of his arm and straightening back up, showing that he was a few good inches taller than Connor. Excellent. “I am certain. As you are the one who’s been assigned this investigation, you are the one I’ve been directed to assist.” A pause, the android’s LED blinking from blue to yellow and back to blue. “Captain Jeffrey Fowler has already been informed of this arrangement. Were you not notified?”

“Oh.” _Stop wasting time there’s a dead person._ “No, I wasn’t… Alright. Follow me then; if you find anything interesting or that we may have overlooked, let me know, alright?”

The android nodded, following silently as Connor finally separated from the crowd.

This was fine. He could work with this.

Yeah, totally.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

There wasn’t much Hank bothered to appreciate anymore, but the ease at which Lieutenant Anderson accepted his apparently unannounced presence came close to making the list.

“Connor!” An officer on the porch called out once that had gotten past the officer at the gate, the Lieutenant hastening his stride to reach her. Hank let himself fall behind a few steps, scanning the yard, the sidewalk, the porch. Aside from the obscene amount of trash accumulating on the porch, nothing came across as relevant. Yet, anyway.

“Officer Miller,” the Lieutenant greeted, shaking her hand briefly. “What’s the situation?”

“Let’s just say not too good,” she joked without humor. A scan indicated heightened levels of stress and exhaustion. “The call came in around eight, the landlord found the body when he came to ask about the rent from the past ten months.” She pulled a medical mask from her pocket, tugging it over her mouth and nose and hooking it around her ears, then handed the Lieutenant one who did the same. She looked up at Hank briefly, curious, then shrugged and turned to lead the way inside.

“It’s bad, but trust me when I tell you it was worse before we opened the windows,” she said when Lieutenant Anderson gagged, pulling the neck of his sweater up over the mask. “From the looks of it, I’d say the body’s been here for about three weeks, maybe more. We’ll know more once the coroner shows up.”

“No one steps outside in three weeks and no one called the police sooner?”

“Apparently he was the real private type, almost never went outside. No one around here actually knew him, much less every really saw him.” 

There are more officers inside, taking pictures of the scene and putting down evidence tabs. The body is illuminated, clearly the main focus of the scene, bloated and gray with time, slumped against a boarded-up wall. The words ‘I AM ALIVE’ are painted on the wall in a perfectly even Cyberlife sans font. Too neat for a human to write without time and patience, something the state of the body suggests against. 

From a distance, Hank can clearly see the blood staining the man’s shirt, the source the multiple stab wounds in his chest. He counts twenty-eight.

“The victim’s name is Carlos Ortiz,” Officer Miller continues. “He was stabbed twenty-eight times in the chest, bled to death. There’s a kitchen knife right over there,” she gestures a short distance away from the body, “most likely the murder weapon. No sign of a break-in, the front door was locked and the windows are boarded up. Killer might have left out the back door.”

Lieutenant Anderson nodded, pulling on a pair of gloves from his coat pocket and accepting a handheld UV light when another officer offers it to him, crouching by the body and scanning over it. 

Meanwhile, Hank opts to scan the environment. The state of the living room alone suggested neglect of the household, garbage littering the floors and the furniture. If the android were a household model, surely the house wouldn’t be so filthy. Unless it’s directive was altered or stopped. 

Irrelevant.

Moving to where Officer Miller gestured, Hank quickly located the knife and determined through a quick analysis that it was most certainly the murder weapon, the blood staining the steel identifying as the victim’s. Through it he finds that the murder took place nineteen days ago. There are no fingerprints.

“Do we know anything about the android?” he hears the Lieutenant ask. It takes a moment for Officer Miller to respond - a minute during which Hank discovers the red ice spilled on a shelf. The victim was a drug addict. This lines up with most of the other cases. 

“We know he had one, but no one’s seen it and it’s not here. Probably long gone by now.”

There’s more blood staining the carpet, a trail leading through the bed area and towards the kitchen. The victim tried to run then. He follows it, catching word of the Lieutenant asking if Officer Miller is alright, to which she responds that she needs some air and will be outside if they need her.

The kitchen shows a clear sign of some sort of struggle, chairs knocked over and the table overturned. There’s a weapon here too - a baseball bat with traces of thirium, the main ingredient in android’s “blood”, in the indentations that suggest a point of impact, Carlos’ fingerprints on the handle. Already, Hank can reconstruct the highest probability of what occurred. 

Carlos’ attacked the android with the bat in the kitchen. It grabbed a knife and defended itself. But it didn’t stop - it chased him and finished the job. 

“What happened here?” the Lieutenant asks from behind him. The other officer in the room offers up an explanation. Lieutenant Anderson nods, then comes to stand near Hank, his head tilted slightly. Inquiring.

“What do you think happened, Hank?” Hank looks up at him, and analyzes. The Lieutenant knows what happened - he doesn’t appear to be even remotely confused. This is a sort of test then. He wants to know what Hank has put together on his own.

So Hank tells him. “It would appear that the victim attacked the android here. The android acted in self-defense and grabbed a knife.” The Lieutenant nodded and moved away, but made a gesture for Hank to continue, letting him know he was still listening. “The android injured him, but pursued the victim to the living room, where it proceeded to stab him repeatedly, killing him.”

“But do you know why?”

Hank considers it. Acting in self-defense is one thing; it’s the matter of not stopping that confuses him. What does the android have to gain from killing him? It could have attacked, saved itself, and ran as other deviants have, but it didn’t. It’s as though it wanted to kill him.

“Lieutenant, there’s something weird in the bathroom. You should check it out,” a passing officer suggests. Lieutenant Anderson nodded, putting down the magazine he picked up from the counter and turning to follow, Hank trailing along behind him, still pondering. 

The bathroom is small, and much less of a mess than the rest of the house. The shower curtain is pulled back to reveal some sort of… altar. Obsessive writing covers the wall, rA9 written in black, over and over, almost frantically. A wooden statue stands on the drain, the features minute, illuminated by an electrical glowstick. Flowers are scattered on the floor around the statue, most wilted. Some are too fresh.

“rA9?” the Lieutenant questions, reaching out as though to trace the writings, but stopping just short of making contact. He drops his hand to pick up the statue instead, turning it over in his palms. “Was this at any of the other scenes?”

Hank reviews the information gathered throughout the investigation and determines that no, nothing like this was reported at any of the other scenes. He proceeds to say so.

“I’ve never heard of androids believing in any religion…”

“That’s because they don’t.”

The Lieutenant makes a considering noise, placing the statue back on the drain. “Let’s go see the back yard, see if we can’t get some kind of lead on it.”

The back door is closed when they get to it, the knob clean of fingerprints. Hanks pulls it open, then pushes open the screen door and steps out onto the back porch. The backyard is largely lacking in vegetation, the neglect in the home spreading outdoors like some kind of virus. A single trail of footprints lead out, then goes back in. Hank identifies them as Officer Miller’s size nine shoes.

“Yeah, looks like it’d be long gone by now,” Lieutenant Anderson sighs, tugging the hood of his jacket up.

Hank frowns, kneeling at the edge of the porch and reaching down to sample the soil. Sure enough, it’s a clay soil. Ideal for gardening, as well as retaining footprints. It’s only rained one other time in the last month, and it was hardly more than a light shower.

Adjusting his scan, he searched the ground for any trace of thirium. Since there was some on the bat, that would mean the android was injured. There’s a chance it could’ve left a trail, one that the police couldn’t find.

There was no trace of it in the soil, on the porch, or on the door.

“This soil would’ve retained the tracks. Lieutenant, there’s no trace of anyone having been out here in a long, long time.”

The Lieutenant blinks at him, then frowns. Crossing his arms, he adjusts his stance from loose to tense is a second, giving this new information some honest consideration.

Hank decides to offer a solution.

“There was thirium on the baseball bat, meaning the android was injured. It evaporates after a period of time but leaves a trace, one that the human eye can’t see, but I can scan for traces of it.”

He can see the intrigue on the Lieutenant’s face. “Thirium? Isn’t that an agent in red ice?”

“It’s also the main ingredient in an android’s ‘blood.’ I believe you would call it ‘Blue Blood.’”

A variety of expressions crosses the Lieutenant’s face then, from curiosity to discomfort to understanding. “And there’s none out here?” Hank shakes his head and the Lieutenant throws his arms up. Hank would never admit that for just a second, it startles him. “Then what are we doing out here!? Come on, back to the kitchen; we’ve got ourselves an android to find.”

Hank quickly trails after the suddenly motivated man, scanning the room again as soon as they step inside, finding that sure enough, there’s a trail. For a brief second he wonders why he hadn’t looked for it before, but shoves the concern aside in favor of seeing where it goes, Lieutenant Anderson following close behind. The thirium stains the carpet from the kitchen to the living room, right alongside Carlos’ blood. It stains the walls in the hall, the bathroom door, the wall at the end of the hall, and then nothing. Hank looks up, and there, plain as day but hidden in the dark, is a door to the attic. 

The Lieutenant sees it at almost the same time he does, turning on his heel and hustling to the kitchen, coming back in a few short seconds with a chair and an officer asking what he’s doing. The Lieutenant hushes him, handing the chair to Hank and stepping back to observe. Hank nods to him and sets the chair under the door, climbing up and, with a halting gesture to the officers accumulating in the hall, pushes the door back and climbs inside.

The attic is loud with the rain pelting the roof and messy in a way that an attic should be. Dust puffs up from where he touches the ground. 

His attention is immediately drawn to what appears to be a shredded curtain, cut into strips and hung up on a cord. The streetlight reflects through the single window on the other side, casting shadows of boxes and trinkets in a manner that almost makes it appear as though a man is standing on the other side.

The thirium trail leads behind it.

He’s silent, his audio processors picking up on even the slightest scuffle of a boot in the hall, the rain fading to nothing but white noise as he creeps towards the curtain, pushing it back slowly. 

There is no man standing behind the curtain, but there is more thirium, and a path further in. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, ever so silently, he makes his way onward, pausing to listen before turning even the slightest corner. The android could perceive him as a threat. It could attack.

There’s another curtain, this one looking as though it was thrown over a rafter as an afterthought, and he reaches for it when he sees the barest hint of movement out of the corner of his eye, behind a dresser to his right, almost all the way at the back.

He moves towards it, stepping over a box and around a chair, closer, closer… _there._

There, on the other side of the dresser, curled up on the floor, it knees pulled to its chest and its arms, white plastic, its synthetic skin retracted to reveal what it really is, wrapped around its shins, is the android. An HK400 model, uniform soaked in the blood of its victim. When it looks up at him, he sees blood staining its skin. 

He sees fear in its eyes.

“I… I was defending myself…” It says, holding itself tighter. “He was gonna kill me. I didn’t… I didn’t want to die.”

For a second, Hank considers trying to placate it. But this is not a negotiation, and there is nothing he needs from it or for it to do.

“Don’t tell. Please, don’t tell them I’m here,” it pleads, frozen where it sits.

He hears a shuffle, someone climbing up on the chair and peeking in, most likely the Lieutenant. His suspicion is confirmed when there's a quiet call of “Hank? Is everything alright?”

“ _Please._ ”

Androids don’t feel fear.

They don’t feel anything.

“It’s here, Lieutenant!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took several hours and three chill mixes to get through BUT I DID IT!!


End file.
